“Aye,” Ned said. “I’ll have to get someone to mind the ferry.”

“Won’t people ask where you’ve gone?” William queried.

“Some of them’ll probably guess,” Ned said. “But if the ferry’s manned and I tell everyone I’m going hunting and gathering herbs for a few days, nobody’ll say anything. I’ll come with you for a day’s march, and I’ll hand you on to a native guide who can show you the rest of the way.”

Edward and William exchanged a glance. “I haven’t come this far to be beheaded by a savage and have my scalp sent to England for the reward,” Edward said sourly.

“Nay, you’ll be safe enough with a guide. They’ve got nothing against those of us that live modest and farm a few acres. It’s the others that have turned them sour: them that can’t be satisfied with a hundred acres, them that foul the rivers, them that run hogs through the cornfields. They who insult them, and get them into debt and then say the debt must be paid in land. But they won’t hurt two men traveling in peace.”

Neither man looked wholly reassured. “But will they know there’s a reward on our heads?” Edward asked.

“They know everything! But they’d think it dishonorable to betray a guest for money,” Ned assured him. “But you—in return—” He broke off, trying to find the words to explain. “When you meet them—you have to treat them like equals,” he said awkwardly. “Not like servants. They’re proud—proud as a cavalier lord in their own way—they have their own ideas as to how things should be, they have their own masters and ministers. They have their own God and their own prayers. And more than anything, they hate to be disrespected.”

William clapped him on the back. “You’re a good man, Ned! You’ve a kind word for everyone, even savages. We’ll leave in the morning, yes?”

Ned nodded. “As soon as I’ve got someone to man my ferry. You can sleep in my bed,” he offered. “It’ll be a while before you have a bed again. I’ll roll up before the fire.”

Before he slept Ned took a sheet of rough paper and with his homemade quill pen and a little jar of ink made from crushed soot and an addled egg yolk, scratched a note for his sister, Alinor, and pinned it with one of his new shingle nails to his rough table, for anyone to find in case he did not come home from his hunting trip.

IF YOU FIND THIS AND I, NED FERRYMAN, HAVE NOT RETURNED FROM THE FOREST PLEASE TO SEND IT TO MRS. ALINOR REEKIE / REEKIE WHARF / SAVOURY DOCK / SOUTHWARK VILLAGE / LONDON.

SISTER ALINOR

GOD BLESS YOU. I AM WRITING THIS IN CASE OF MISCHANCE BEFORE I GO INTO THE WOODS HUNTING WITH MY DOG. IF IT SHOULD GO AMISS FOR ME THEN SOMEONE WILL HAVE FOUND IT AND SENT IT TO YOU. THIS IS FAREWELL AND GOD BLESS YOU, SISTER.

YOU SHOULD COLLECT MY GOODS. I HAVE SOME BEASTS THAT SHOULD BE SOLD AND THE VALUE SENT TO YOU. I WOULD THINK ABOUT £10. MY LAND AND CABIN WOULD BE WORTH ABOUT £40. YOU COULD ASK THE MINISTER AT HADLEY MR. JOHN RUSSELL TO FORWARD YOU THE VALUE. TELL HIM PELTS OR GOODS NOT WAMPUM.

OR YOU COULD KEEP THE HOUSE AND FERRY AND JOHNNIE MIGHT DO WORSE THAN TO COME HERE HIMSELF IF HE’S NOT TOO GRAND TO KEEP A FERRY. IT’S NO HARDER THAN MAKING A LIVING ON FOULMIRE, AND SOMETIMES, WHEN THE MIST COMES OFF THE RIVER AND ALL THE BIRDS ARE FLYING LOW, I THINK IT IS VERY LIKE OUR OLD HOME. SOMETIMES THE RIVER COMES OVER ITS BANKS INTO THE SWAMP AND THE ONLY WAY THROUGH IS THE LITTLE PATHS THAT THE SAVAGES KNOW—THAT I AM LEARNING. I SEE FOULMIRE AGAIN EVERY DAWN HERE.

I DON’T REGRET COMING HERE THOUGH I WAS DRIVEN BY YOUR SHAME AND THE DEFEAT OF MY CAUSE. I STILL THINK THAT HIS LORDSHIP WAS NOT FIT TO JUDGE YOU AND NO MAN IS FIT TO RULE ME. I LIKE THIS LAND WITHOUT KINGS OR RULERS BUT MEN WHO WALK QUIETLY IN HIDDEN WAYS.

GOD BLESS YOU, SISTER—AND IF I DON’T RETURN KNOW THAT YOU WERE ALWAYS LOVED BY YOUR BROTHER—

NED FERRYMAN

JUNE 1670, LONDON

Johnnie walked around to Sarah’s workshop in the early morning, breakfasting on a warm roll that he bought from a passing baker’s boy, so that he could see his sister before work started.

“No Followers,” said the cook as he knocked on the kitchen door. “No gentlemen callers. And who comes courting at dawn?”

“I’m Sarah’s brother,” Johnnie said humbly. “May I see her for a moment?”

The cook swung open the door and the millinery assistants and senior girls, sitting at their breakfast at the big kitchen table, all turned around and stared at the handsome young man on the doorstep, and then, like a flock of startled pigeons in the corn, flew out of the room, abandoning their plates.

“I didn’t mean to disturb…” Johnnie said, weakly.

Only Sarah stayed and she came to the back door. “They’re man-mad,” she told him. “They’ll all be running off to pull out their curl papers and get properly dressed. If you stay long enough they’ll all be back.”

“But it’s only me, why bother?” he asked as she came out and closed the kitchen door behind her. The two of them sat companionably on the stone doorstep, looking over the tidy yard, the delivery horse nodding over the half door, the groom filling a bucket at the pump.

“Thruppence a day for a junior, tenpence a day for a senior,” she said. “The only hope for any of us is that a man sees us and proposes marriage and takes us away from here. There’s no way to make a living out of feathers and glass and straw unless you own the shop.”

“You don’t want to train for another trade?” he demanded anxiously. “You know Ma can’t afford new indentures.”

“No,” she said. “Though I’d rather be in a real business and not women’s trade. For some reason they’re always paid cheap. But I won’t get stuck here, hoping for a man to rescue me. I’ll find a way to set up on my own, or I’ll find a patron and make headdresses and hats just for her. The court is full of women who want their own look. All the new actresses want to stand out. I don’t have to marry some fool to save me from this.” She thought for a moment. “If I could do exactly what I want, I’d go and buy the silks and lace where they’re made, off the loom. Think of that!”

He was troubled. “But where’s that? Constantinople? India?”

She shrugged. “Just a dream, a milliner’s dream. Anyway, why’re you here so early?”

“I came to see if you’ve learned anything more about Sir James? His credit’s good, I asked Mr. Watson last night. Sir James is well known as a man of means, he’s an investor in the East India Company, you can’t do that without a fortune behind you, and his credit’s solid. Owns half of Yorkshire, and a good property in London, and he has money with the goldsmith’s too.”

“Was he in exile with the king? Was he a royalist?”

“Aye, he’ll have paid a huge fine to settle with the parliament commissioners so he could get his lands back. Then when the king came in, he’ll have got it all back again, rewarded for loyalty. He’s a wealthy man: clever enough to be on the right side at the right time. He was a royalist until the last minute, turned his collar, and then turned it again.”